


I walk the fire, I feed the flame

by do_androids_dream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, the background story to my other fics nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream
Summary: It took quite a long time until Geralt and Emhyr realized that they felt something for each other. Someone decided to help in this matter...
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 96





	I walk the fire, I feed the flame

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request by [Gravy](https://alphagravy.tumblr.com): a pre-slash, kind of background story for those lovely idiots that roam through my stories for quite a while now. So, this is for you - it may not be exactly what you have expected, but this is what the muse had in store :)
> 
> We both chose each a song for this one:
> 
> Gravy chose ["Feels good to me"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swdUuSbp1g4) by Black Sabbath.  
> I chose ["Rebel love song"](https://open.spotify.com/track/3ItCQd3vvharrdNrBzZuIY?si=S5ksSfkbRL6VOIRn2uDHAg) by Black Veil Brides.

It was strange to be here again; to be the center of attention once more: a witcher, accompanied by guards, led right through the middle of the imperial palace. Usually, Geralt didn't pay attention to this ridiculous swarm of courtiers. For some reason, this time, he felt that the whispering behind his back was not due to the fact that he appeared here in full armor, two swords on his back. Instead, it was because he had shown up here quite often lately.  
  
The only good thing about Ciri being here now was probably that he miraculously escaped Emhyr's chamberlain thanks to her influence. That meant he could do without the silly Nilfgaardic clothing - and the bow to the Emperor that was indispensable for everyone else. And yet, it was still strange. All of it was: the place, the mere thought that Ciri lived here. What was in store for her (of which, to be honest, he had not the slightest idea), the inevitable encounters with the Emperor. With _Emhyr_ , because that was what Ciri had insisted on: that her biological father should stop calling Geralt simply 'witcher'. And that he too, in return, renounced the formal form of address. "Basically, we're more or less related," she had said, which was neither true nor a pleasant thought.  
  
The Emperor was busy, as usual, and as usual, Geralt had to wait until the man noticed him. It gave him time to capture the atmosphere. He leaned against the wall and watched the hustle and bustle: the nobles and the high-ranking courtiers, the applicants and the jurisdictions, the scouts and messengers that Emhyr met. Or, as Geralt would have put it, the bootlickers and petitioners. The room was astonishingly quiet, apart from the odd whisper or two discreetly held in reserve. That was due to him, the Emperor, who sat there, a little elevated from the crowd, downright relaxed in his chair, overlooking them all with his piercing gaze. When he spoke, his sonorous voice could be heard even in the back of the room, up to the wall where Geralt stood with folded arms; but only if he wanted to: When he became quiet, he always had a reason, and that was usually not a good one for the person he was talking to. Geralt watched as the man stoically processed one inquiry after the other - although he knew very well that patience was not Emhyr's strength. Occasionally he showed this: his hand movements increased the more his displeasure grew, and when he turned his head to look someone straight into their eyes, they were in big trouble. But most of the people present seemed to pay attention to his voice only. That was understandable because apart from these rare gestures, his facial expression was absolutely unreadable, even to Geralt.  
  
He preferred to focus on the second thing, which he could not quite figure out: Ciri, for she was clearly not present. After she had obviously asked him to come here, this was strange. This meant that the guards had either just assumed that their future ruler was in the same room as the Emperor. Or they knew something he did not know and had brought him here because they did not know what else to do with him.  
  
It turned out that his last assumption was correct. After the seemingly endless queue of waiting people had been worked off, the Emperor's eyes fell on the witcher. He raised his brows - pretty much the most apparent sign of astonishment Geralt had ever seen on him.  
"I was not expecting you," Emhyr said. "What brings you here?"  
His voice did not tell if the witcher’s sight bothered him - if there was anything that could bother him at all, it was hard to say. Geralt, however, could not hide his surprise.  
"A message from Ciri," he replied succinctly. It was clear to him that the relationship between Ciri and the Emperor was still far from normal. However, he could not imagine that Ciri would send for him without informing her father.  
"With what content?" Emhyr asked.  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Emhyr stood up, gestured to his scribe to leave, and approached Geralt.  
"I just wonder," he said while looking at Geralt, examining him, "why _my daughter_ should send you a message if she's not in Vizima at all."  
The strange emphasis of these words would have made his heart beat faster if that were possible. But it was not, at least not by words alone and certainly not from this man's mouth. Anyway, that's what Geralt told himself.  
  
"What do you mean, she's not here?"  
"It means she preferred to spend a few days with the sorceress of Vengerberg," Emhyr replied with annoying composure. "With whom, I understand, you have certain connections. So if this is about pretending to have reasons to see Ciri, you have picked the worst possible time to do so."  
" _Pretending reasons?_ "  
Geralt was well aware that the guards stood right behind him at the door. As he approached the Emperor now at an almost inappropriate distance, he could virtually feel their looks in his back. Emhyr squinted his eyes slightly, but didn't move; he only made a vague little hand movement. It seemed to be enough, for the guards stayed where they were.  
  
"It is Ciri's business if she wants to see me, and you have agreed to it, as far as I know," Geralt said now, very quietly. His voice was quite close to getting a threatening undertone, but Emhyr couldn't have known that, and he probably wouldn't have been impressed.  
"That's not the point."  
"It doesn't make sense," Geralt replied. "She sent me a message, and she certainly would have mentioned that she actually wants to visit Yennefer."  
Emhyr's dark eyes were fixed on him. Was he trying to read Geralt's strange eyes to see if he was telling the truth?  
"Ciri told me that there were certain ... differences between you and the sorceress. It would probably be a reason not to mention it," Emhyr answered.  
Geralt raised his brows.  
"First of all, with all due respect, that's none of your fucking business."  
He really wondered why Ciri would mention something like that, especially to Emhyr. Their relationship was far from as intimate as it would have been if she had grown up with her father. And whether he still maintained relations with Yennefer - which he did not - was nothing that Emhyr of all people needed to know about.  
"And secondly?" Emhyr wanted to know from Geralt after a few moments of silence.  
"Hm?"  
"You said, first. There usually follows a second."  
Geralt reminded himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't help but notice the amused twinkle in the Emperor's eyes. What the hell did he think was so funny?  
  
"I have no idea," Geralt admitted. He noticed that he was still standing very close to Emhyr and took a step back - not so much because of the guards behind him. He felt the distance to the man was unreasonable for some reason. "Did she mention when she'd be back?"  
"She did not," Emhyr replied calmly - although Geralt felt for a moment that the serenity on this subject wasn't one hundred percent real. "Anyway," Emhyr finally said with a glance behind him, where a large window on the wall clearly announced the evening sun, "it's getting late, and for once you're here. I'm having a room made up."  
His tone made it clear that there could be no contradiction.  
"All right. I'll leave tomorrow morning," Geralt replied.  
Emhyr didn't answer. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded at him and turned to face the door. But just before that, he changed his mind and said, almost reluctantly, "Do you play Gwent?"  
  
The evening, which could hardly have been stranger, ended even more oddly: A little later, Geralt not only found himself in a rather informal environment with the Emperor, he even played cards with him. Geralt lost, which Emhyr didn't attribute to bad cards but a lack of tactics - of course. They played several rounds. For some reason, a kind of inner tension dissolved in Geralt over time, which he had not noticed. This might have been partly due to the alcohol he did not refuse, but in the end, this was probably not the whole truth. At least he didn't drink so much that he wouldn't have remembered that evening, and also not so much that he wouldn't have been wide awake the next morning. He had been invited for breakfast, and that was indeed the one meal Geralt could never resist.  
  
The next day started very early, almost at dawn, which - as it soon turned out - was a common ground neither of them had expected. Surprisingly Ciri joined them after a short time. She almost stormed the room, greeting Geralt with a warm embrace and Emhyr with amazingly friendly, nearly appreciative words.  
"You're back early," Emhyr said.  
"Really?" she replied with a smile, reaching across the table into the fruit basket, fishing out an apple, and sitting down. Geralt thought that she had still internalized the manners of Kaer Morhen, despite all efforts of Vesemir, not to mention those of Yennefer and Triss. That was probably something she soon had to discard - at any rate he could hardly imagine that the court greatly appreciated the future Empress lolling in her chair like a peasant girl.  
  
"You caused the wit... Geralt a certain embarrassment," Emhyr continued.  
"That's not true," Geralt quickly threw in.  
Ciri asked, with innocence in her voice that at least Geralt knew was fake, "How so?"  
"Obviously, you didn't tell him that you wouldn't be here," her father continued without giving Geralt the chance to answer. Maybe he considered this a final test to find out if Geralt had told the truth.  
"Oh, it was a pretty spontaneous matter. Yen sometimes has these ideas, you know that very well," Ciri replied casually, addressing Geralt. "But, as you can see, I did my best to get back quickly."  
If she noticed the slightly irritated looks Geralt and Emhyr gave her, she at least tried not to let it show and preferred to focus on her breakfast. Geralt did not know what Emhyr thought about it, but he decided to let it go. In his opinion, she was old enough to have her little secrets - and that's basically what he thought this was about.

  


* * *

  


Visits to the palace became a kind of habit over the next few months. Whenever Ciri called him, he came; she always found some reason, if only that she simply wanted to see him. And Geralt always found a way to come, even if he was actually on his way to a contract. And something else seemed to become a habit: the occasional card games with Emhyr, even if Geralt was still losing. On the other hand, his discomfort diminished, if that even was what he had felt at first when he was near the Emperor. Emhyr himself seemed much more relaxed on these occasions than usual. He was a surprisingly interesting interlocutor: smart, with just the right amount of curiosity and profound background knowledge. Only his sense of humor was strange and not easy to see through.  
  
Ciri often spent time with both of them. Still, it did happen that she canceled at the last moment or withdrew unexpectedly early for whatever reasons. Even Yennefer was present sometimes - Ciri seemed to appreciate her advice about her future tasks. However, the atmosphere was much tenser when the sorceress was there. She was professional and polite, though rather cool, at least towards Geralt. Whenever he tried to talk to her alone, she would find an excuse. Since it was damn hard to be alone in that place, his occasional attempts to talk probably seemed completely different to outsiders than they actually were. Even Emhyr behaved differently when Yennefer was present: he was much more sarcastic and also much more reserved towards Geralt. He wondered if it had something to do with the fact that Emhyr was generally not that fond of sorceresses, even if he had a new, fairly young court sorceress. Maybe it was especially Yennefer with whom he seemed to have a problem. In this case, he would probably have to get used to it, because Ciri was stubborn on this point: she loved and adored the sorceress and obviously wanted her around.  
  
One evening she was also present, or at least, like Ciri, she was expected at dinner. But they were late. It was obvious that Emhyr found this at least inappropriate, for he began to tap his fingers on the table. He didn't seem to notice it; his gaze went nowhere.  
"It is not unusual for Yennefer to be late," Geralt said after a while into the room's tense silence. Emhyr looked at him. His gaze almost had a tenseness to it.  
"This must be really bothering you," he said.  
"Me?" Geralt replied, surprised. "Not really, I'm used to it."  
For some reason, he had the feeling that this wasn't the answer Emhyr had expected - his face showed a closed-off expression immediately. Shortly afterward, he stood up abruptly and said, "I'm going to see what's keeping Cirilla."  
Before Geralt could say anything about it, Emhyr was out of the door - let alone wonder why he wanted to do it himself when he only had to snap his fingers to get some task done.  
  
But his impatience wasn't the only reason Emhyr roamed the corridors after making sure the guards stayed put and didn't follow him. What it was, however, was not entirely clear to him. He felt a certain, strange restlessness that was unfamiliar to him. He was just before the corner to an adjoining hallway when he heard voices that made him slow down his footsteps. Emhyr recognized Ciri clearly, and she spoke to the sorceress. Why they could not do this during the meal, he soon realized, because obviously, they were talking about things that seemed very personal to him.  
  
He stopped. It might not have been very appropriate to listen. Still, first of all, a certain curiosity was not necessarily a bad character trait. And secondly, information was a valuable resource in his position - at least that's what he told himself. However, Emhyr soon realized that what was spoken there was really not meant for his ears. And also that the voices were getting closer; Ciri and the sorceress were moving towards him.  
  
"...it was hot and gentle," the sorceress just said.  
Ciri laughed.  
"Yen, think about what you are talking about," she replied.  
"But it is true, witchers have..."  
At that moment, they both stepped into the corridor where Emhyr stood rooted to the spot.  
"Oh, Papa, have you become impatient?" said Ciri with a smile. "I'm afraid we've had a little chat and lost track of time."  
"That... must have been a very stimulating conversation," he replied with an impenetrable expression.  
"What? Oh, it was only about tea," Ciri said innocently, pretending not to notice the look Yennefer gave her.  
"Tea," Emhyr repeated slowly.  
"Tea," Yennefer narrowly confirmed. "An excellent topic for our dinner, by the way, because it was actually about the effects of certain herbs in certain infusions, something Geralt should know a thing or two about. Shall we go?"  
  
For a while, the table talk actually dealt with herbs and teas, and although Emhyr occasionally asked thoughtful and always precise questions, his sudden reserve towards Geralt was clearly noticeable. It was not clear to him why, even if he suspected that this had something to do with Yennefer. Or maybe with Ciri, who again had a strange smile on her face. He wondered what had delayed the two of them, but he didn't find out, as the conversation soon turned to other things.

  


* * *

  


Some time passed until Geralt showed up in Vizima the next time. Although Ciri had greeted him enthusiastically and told him a true litany about duties that were apparently worse than cleaning all the swords of Kaer Morhen, her subsequent absence was also conspicuous. She showed up, started a conversation with him and Emhyr, and jumped up in the middle of a sentence, apologizing that she had forgotten something. Or she went to bed early and encouraged them to resume their earlier habit of Gwent. She often said it would be good for Geralt and Emhyr to spend time together and that she wanted them to get along. Geralt began to suspect that this was the reason why she sometimes just disappeared.  
  
And he had to admit that he hadn't found Emhyr's company as strange as in the beginning. As far as the man himself was concerned, he could only speculate. Neither they talked about it, nor did his face ever reveal anything he didn't want to show. So if he found it strange that his daughter's foster father played such a big role in her life, he did not show it. Geralt also didn't see that he urged her to submit to her new role or even encouraged her to concentrate more on her future life. To him, Emhyr seemed amazingly calm for a man whose primary goal only a few months ago had been to find his heir and successor by all means. In many respects, Emhyr remained a stranger to him. At the same time, he felt a certain familiarity that he could hardly explain.  
  
One evening Geralt received a note with a message in Ciri's hasty handwriting asking him to come into the gardens. Surprisingly, he met Emhyr there, who had also received such a note, delivered by his chamberlain. The gardens were empty; none of the usual nobles and courtiers usually scurrying about were to be seen. Emhyr waved the note in his hand when he saw Geralt coming, and said with a slight impatience in his voice, "Is she trying to play a trick on us? It's a bit childish at her age."  
"What can she be up to in these sad gardens though," Geralt replied before he sat down on one of the stone benches and stared into the sky. The sun was just setting, casting the grounds in an almost romantic light. "Well, they may not be that beautiful," Emhyr admitted and sat down next to him. Their hands almost touched, and Geralt shifted uncomfortably back and forth a little.  
"I don't know who planted that pathetic piece of green. However, it might be considered unwise to insult the imperial estates."  
In time, Geralt had gotten used to Emhyr's somewhat offbeat, rather dry humor. However, he still found it difficult to tell when exactly the Emperor was trying to be funny.  
  
"Perhaps," he replied with some hesitation. "I hear the gardens of the Duchess of Touissant are breathtaking."  
Emhyr turned to him and raised his brows.  
"Although I am fully aware that this certainly temporary residence cannot be compared with my cousin's estate," he replied, stressing _“cousin"_ in a way that suggested some tension, "I am interested to know what brings you to such a comparison." Geralt smiled thinly.  
"You've probably heard about the famous bard who..."  
"That licentious buffoon who'd better not show his face in the duchy again? Named himself after some flower?" Emhyr interrupted him.  
To Emhyr's unusually clear surprise, Geralt burst into a hearty laugh. It was a rare sight and a strangely pleasant sound. The strange look the Emperor gave him attracted his attention. He noticed that he hadn't even seen him smile once. Probably, the man just didn't have much reason to be amused. Still, he didn't have to stare at him as if he hadn't seen a human laugh for ages.  
  
"Dandelion, that's right," he said then. "He'd probably get a kick out of being called licentious buffoon."  
"Sounds like a man with an odd taste."  
"Sure, with a witcher as a friend," Geralt answered casually. "Anyway, he told me all about the ducal gardens."  
"The bard who seduced Anna Henrietta is a friend of yours?" Emhyr replied incredulously.  
"Well, perhaps seduced is..." Geralt broke off when he saw the look in Emhyr's eyes. Something in those dark eyes told him not to go into it. "But yes, he is."  
"You're a strange man, witcher."  
Although these words had been spoken as a simple fact, they sounded almost like a compliment.  
  
All of a sudden, the mood seemed to change. Emhyr had been somehow reserved towards him lately, although they had gotten along quite well already. Now he seemed to give up some of his reluctance. It was visible in his posture, but also his scent. However, Geralt - who usually tried to switch off this sense in the presence of humans - didn't really recognize what exactly was different about it. Or rather, he chose not to.  
  
Yet something suddenly was different. Maybe it was the light of the setting sun that made Emhyr's facial lines look softer. Geralt was no romantic - at least that's what he believed. Looking back on his previous relationships, he probably had reason to believe so. Everything could be attributed to the light, the unusual silence for the palace, and the unfamiliar arrangement that Ciri had practically forced on them by summoning them both here. Even the strange thought that Emhyr was indeed an attractive man. Why he was staring at him at all was unclear to him, he had just watched the setting sun. But he realized that a pair of dark eyes were directed at him. As the light slowly faded, it was hard to tell whether they were amber or a hazelnut-like brown. Or why he even wondered. For a moment, it seemed as if Emhyr wanted to say something, but Geralt was ahead of him.  
"You should know better than to sneak up on gravel," he said and turned around. Emhyr, a little confused, did the same. Ciri approached, laughing softly.  
"If I wanted to sneak up on you, you surely wouldn't have noticed," she replied with amazing self-confidence. Strangely enough, none of them asked why she appeared only now or why she had ordered them here at all with a ridiculous note.  
"I am late for sunset,' Ciri said, but there was no regret in her voice. 

  


* * *

  


The next time Geralt appeared unannounced. He had never come on his own accord before, except for a somewhat unpleasant episode, only a few weeks after Ciri had decided to follow this path. At that time, he had been drunk, and admittedly quite loud; and afterward, it had been arranged that he could visit Ciri if she wanted him to. He had stuck to it until this time. In the end, he thought, he wasn't much different from other visitors to the palace - though few could hope for the Emperor's hospitality unless some stupid protocol required it by all means.  
  
Strangely enough, nobody was particularly surprised that he showed up without prior notice. He was welcomed with the same sincere joy (in the case of Ciri) and serene courtesy (in the case of Emhyr) as usual.  
"What brings you here? A contract?" Ciri asked.  
Geralt nodded.  
"I am on my way to Touissaint. Maybe I will have the chance to see the ducal gardens for myself at last," he replied towards Emhyr.  
"I suppose that means my dear cousin does not have any trouble with bards, but that this is a monster problem?" Emhyr asked.  
"I hope so, I cannot help her with the other issue," Geralt returned with a faint smile.  
"That means you are just passing through?" Ciri asked. "Yet you show up at exactly the right time. Papa was about to show me a horse."  
Geralt had himself well enough under control not to flinch at the still unfamiliar address Ciri used for Emhyr.  
"As you know, I'm not particularly interested in horses - so you'd be doing me a favor if you'd listen to his tirades about tacks or halters instead of me. I'll make it up to you at dinner, all right?"  
And in one bound, she was at the door, waving at them cheerfully, and disappeared.  
"Cirilla," Emhyr called after her, but he didn't even sound angry. In fact, he sighed. "This kind of education is on you," he said to Geralt, without any noticeable resentment in his voice.  
"She likes horses," Geralt said, somewhat irritated.  
Emhyr shrugged.  
"Well, if she likes them as much as my lectures - as she calls it - maybe she's been fooling you so far," he replied. Geralt glanced at him, examining. The corners of his mouth were slightly raised - the hint of a smile. Ciri got a grip on him, he thought. Like on all of us, she always had.  
"What kind of horse is that?" he finally asked.  
"A colt," Emhyr replied instantly. "Still a little impetuous. An unexpected gift, but one I have no use for. It is a pity for the animal. Would you like to see it? I must warn you, though, it may become a lesson in horse breeding."  
"Why not?" Geralt replied to his surprise.  
  
Geralt was the kind of person who looked at horses rather matter-of-factly - hardly surprising for a man who did not even bother to think up a new name for a new horse. Nevertheless, he found himself somehow enjoying Emhyr's talk about horses. The black horse he presented to him was magnificent, a zerricanian breed. He already owned enough horses and did not need another one, and so far, he had not decided what to do with the animal. Geralt watched him as he slowly and carefully stroked the somewhat nervous horse across the flank. His voice, with which he explained the differences between one- and three-year-old horses, had a strangely calming effect on the witcher.  
  
Finally, Emhyr showed him all the horses in the stable, and amazingly enough, he seemed to know every one of and anything about them. He even had something appreciative to say about Roach, who had also temporarily found a place in the stables. Despite his obvious preference for horses, it was noticeable that the stables were not his usual territory. He moved here much less self-confidently than inside the palace, which might have had something to do with the fact that he was extremely conscientious and careful with the animals. The real reason was that he had very little time to spend here, especially on his own. He was not alone now either, but he had ordered his guards to stay in the palace. Apparently, he had enough confidence in the witcher's abilities to defend him in the highly unlikely event of a sudden attack. But then another event almost brought him down. It was extremely banal: Despite all his caution, Emhyr tripped over a bucket at an imprudent moment. Thanks to Geralt's excellent reflexes, he did not slip - he grabbed Emhyr's upper arm at just the right moment and prevented the fall.  
"Careful," he said unnecessarily.  
Emhyr, whose dark eyes seemed to pierce his own, replied quietly, "That seems like an appropriate warning to me."  
  
All at once, the surroundings had become very quiet. If he had wanted to, Geralt could have heard every gentle snort of a horse, every rustling in the straw, the slightest crackling in the timberwork above them, and yet he heard nothing but his own heartbeat. Emhyr's eyes still rested on him, and there was a peculiar sparkle in them. One heartbeat long, the world seemed to stop spinning. Then the moment passed, and Emhyr said, still very quietly, "You might want to let go now."  
Geralt first looked at him, then he glanced at his hand that still held Emhyr's arm firmly. Slowly he let go, with a feeling he couldn't interpret: was it indecision or, in the end, regret?  
  
"We should see where our daughter is," Emhyr suggested. It was the first time he said _our daughter_ , Geralt realized. He didn't even know if Emhyr himself had noticed. But then again, it was hard to imagine him saying anything he didn't mean to. And he had no reason to say it, he didn't have to say it. In fact, the Emperor of Nilfgaard could utter whatever he wanted, and if he wanted to, it would be law. And still, he had said something that Geralt hadn't even known that this kind of recognition would mean something to him. Over this thought, the strange mood that had been over them both a moment ago disappeared, and they left the stables.

  


* * *

  


The next message from Ciri arrived just in time - at least at a time when Geralt could use some distraction. Not only some time had passed since his last visit, but a lot had happened that he'd rather forget. Ciri didn't accept his brooding mood. She embraced him impetuously as usual and scolded him for not revealing anything about his true mission in Touissaint. She even insisted that he described his stay in prison in detail. At dinner, however, Geralt noticed the unusually cool atmosphere between her and Emhyr. When she left soon after, he asked him directly what was going on.  
  
"She is still angry with me," Emhyr explained calmly. "Cirilla feels, I could have done something after the news of your incarceration got around."  
Geralt pulled a face.  
"It's not necessarily good for business."  
"One might think that the reason for this sentence is much worse for business," Emhyr replied thoughtfully, "but I can assure you that nobody knows anything more about this point."  
Geralt nodded gratefully.  
"She doesn't know the duchess yet," he said then. What he actually meant was that the Emperor had no particular reason to interfere in such a matter. In this case, Ciri's wishes should not be of concern.  
"This is true," Emhyr confirmed. And then, after a brief moment of silence, he continued: "Amazing that it was this bard friend of yours who came to the rescue, not your sorceress."  
  
Geralt noticed that Emhyr had started to drum his fingers lightly on the table. Usually, this was a sign of impatience. Still, by now, Geralt knew him well enough to know that there were occasional moments of tension when he also maintained this habit. The look on his face revealed nothing, his eyes were focused on Geralt. If he hadn't known better he would have believed, Emhyr waited almost eagerly for his answer.  
  
"Which sorceress?" Geralt asked in genuine confusion. "Yennefer? Why should she?"  
"Why should she not? The bard had much more to lose by showing his face in Touissaint."  
"Sure. But..." Geralt hesitated. He had no real interest in exposing his failed love life to the Emperor. "Let's just say that Yennefer had no reason to interfere."  
"Really?" Emhyr replied, sounding more interested than he probably should have been.  
"I'm sure Ciri mentioned something," Geralt countered with reservation.  
"Why would she?"  
"Because Yennefer was here often enough."  
Emhyr stood up suddenly and said briefly, "And indeed, it's none of my business, you're quite right."  
  
Geralt leaned back, crossed his arms, and said, "In any case, I can't think of any reason why this should interest you." His voice almost sounded challenging. Emhyr looked at him thoughtfully. He came closer, stepped around the table until he was standing right in front of Geralt.  
"Stand up," he said softly.  
"What? Why?"  
"Because that's an inappropriate position," Emhyr replied with more composure in his voice than he felt. This time, Geralt recognized the smell, especially since Emhyr stood very close to him. He was astonished at how little this surprised him.  
  
"Inappropriate for what?" he asked while he stood up very slowly, although he knew very well what was to follow. Emhyr, unusually patient, waited until Geralt had built himself up in front of him. A last scrutinizing look. Then he bent forward slightly until his face was very close to Geralt's, and muttered, "For that." He pressed his lips against Geralt's, carefully, probing, almost hesitating. Almost. Since there was no resistance, Emhyr took control. Soon his hands were on Geralt's hips, his grip was as firm as his tongue was challenging. As long as the kiss lasted and although it was returned, one thing was clear: he was kissing Geralt, not the other way round. When they finally separated, Geralt said, surprised at the sound of his own voice: "Well, that was unexpected."  
"I agree."  
"But you started it."  
"I could have been wrong."  
It was hard to imagine that the Emperor of Nilfgaard would start anything without being convinced he would win in the end, Geralt thought.  
  
After they had remained silent for a while, simply looking at each other - quite astonished on both sides - Emhyr asked, almost sheepishly, "So, no sorceresses?"  
"Not at the moment," Geralt replied.  
"And have you ever been with..."  
Geralt laughed softly.  
"Do you realize that there were only boys in Kaer Morhen?"  
Emhyr raised his brows.  
"I don't think we should pursue this subject any further."  
"So, no talk about exes?"  
"I'd rather not."  
"In that case", Geralt said with a smile, "We should pick up where we left off."  
  
The next morning, at breakfast, Ciri gave the two of them a puzzled look when she came in. "You both look like you haven't slept," she remarked.  
Geralt choked on the fruit he had just bitten into and could barely stop himself from spitting it across the table. Emhyr might have flinched very briefly. The look they both exchanged made it clear that they had completely forgotten their greatest common ground: Ciri. And she saw that look. A broad grin spread across her face, and suddenly she shouted, "Meredid!"  
Emhyr and Geralt both flinched simultaneously. Shortly afterward, Emhyr's chamberlain came in.  
"You owe me money," Ciri told him.  
At first, Meredid showed a confused expression on his face, then he looked briefly from his master to the witcher - and, it was hard to believe, he blushed. Emhyr's eyes widened.  
"Meredid," he said softly. The chamberlain turned to him. "Get out," said Emhyr. Meredid turned on his heel and disappeared.  
  
No sooner had he left than Geralt bent over the table and stared at Ciri.  
"You made a _bet_?"  
"That you two would kiss, yes."  
This time it looked like Emhyr was choking on something.  
"To his credit, he bet against it," Ciri said.  
Then suddenly, a thought seemed to occur to her.  
"But wait. You... you didn't just kiss, did you?"  
Now it was her turn to blush.  
"I didn't plan it that far."  
"You _planned_ that?" That was Emhyr, and Geralt was sure that it was only the fact that it was Ciri he was facing that saved her.  
"Oh, please," she replied. "You've been skulking around each other for months. It was so obvious that you are not completely indifferent to each other - only you yourselves have not noticed."  
"You'd better leave now," muttered Geralt, while he deliberately stared at the wall.  
"Yes, maybe it's better that way," Ciri replied, slightly embarrassed and jumped up. "But you know what," she said while she was already holding the door handle, "I am happy for you."  
  
Then she was gone, and Geralt and Emhyr looked at each other with a mixture of awkwardness, amazement, and astonishment.  
"That... could get complicated," Emhyr finally said.  
"For sure," Geralt returned. "But I can handle complicated."  
"That's what I'm counting on."  
  
And this was the beginning of it all.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from ["Slow burn"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvH25P5TQ_c) by Apocalyptica.  
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DreamAndroids) or [Tumblr](https://do-androids-dream-ao3acc.tumblr.com).
> 
> If you have been starting with this one, where to go from here is ["Ride into Obsession".](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23357794/chapters/56667709)


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